I heard all this late that night from Babbitts. But there was more to it than I've told in the last chapter, for after they left the hospital O'Mally and Babbitts went to the Whitney office and had a séance with the old man and Mr. George.  
Though Ford¹ had disappointed them his story had made the way clear for a decisive move. This was decided³ upon then and there. On Monday morning they would ask Miss Whitehall to come to Whitney & Whitney's and subject her to a real examination. If she maintained her pose of ignorance they would suddenly face her with their complete information. They felt tolerably certain this would be too much for her, secure in her belief that no murder had been suspected. Surprise and terror would seize her, even a hardened criminal, placed unexpectedly in such a position, was liable to break down.
 
The next day was Sunday. I'll not forget it in a hurry. Many a high pressure day I've had in my twenty-five years but none that had anything over that one. It was gray and overcast⁴, clouds low down over the roofs which stretched away in a gray huddle⁵ of flat tops and slanting⁶ mansards and chimneys and clotheslines. Babbitts spent the morning on the davenport looking like he was in a boat floating through a sea of newspapers. I couldn't settle down to anything, thinking of what was going to happen the next morning, thinking of that girl, that beautiful girl, with her soul stained with crime, and wondering if she could feel the shadow that was falling across her.
 
After lunch Himself went out saying he'd take a shot at finding Freddy Jaspar and going with him up to Yonkers where there'd been some anarchist⁷ row. He was restless too. If things turned out right he'd get his Big Story at last—and what a story it would be!—he'd get a raise for certain, and as he kissed me good-bye he said he'd give me the two glass lamps and a new set of furs, anything I wanted short of sable⁸ or ermine.
 
In the afternoon Iola dropped in all dolled up and decked with a permanent smile, for she'd landed her new job and liked it fine. As she prattled⁹ away she let drop something that caught my ear, and lucky it was as you'll see presently. On her way over she'd met Delia, the Whitehalls' maid, who told her the ladies were going to move back to the Azalea Woods Estates where someone had given them a cottage. Delia had just been to see them and found that Mrs. Whitehall had already gone, and Miss Whitehall was packing up to follow on Monday afternoon. Iola thought it was nice they'd got the cottage but didn't I think Miss Whitehall would be afraid of the dullness of the country after living in town? I said you never could tell. What I thought was that if there was anything for Miss Whitehall to be afraid of it wasn't dullness.
 
At six Iola left, having a date for supper, and a little after that I had a call from Babbitts, saying he and Freddy Jaspar had found the anarchist business more important than they expected and he wouldn't be home till all hours.
 
Isabella doesn't come on Sunday so I got my own supper and then sat down in the parlor¹⁰ and tried to read the papers. But I couldn't put my mind on them. In a few days, perhaps as soon as Tuesday, the Dispatch would have the Harland murder on the front page. I could see the headlines—the copy reader could spread himself—and I tried to work out how Babbitts would write it, where he'd begin—with the crime itself or with all the story that came before it.
 
It was near eleven and me thinking of bed when there was a ring at the bell. That's pretty late for callers, even in a newspaper man's flat, and I jumped up and ran into the hall. After I'd jammed the push button, I opened the door, spying out for the head coming up the stairs. It came—a derby hat and a pair of broad shoulders, and then Jack¹¹ Reddy's face, raised to mine, grave and frowning.
 
"Hello, Molly," he said. "It's late, but I couldn't find any of the others so I came to you."
 
If he hadn't seen anyone he didn't know what had transpired¹². The thought made me bubble up with eagerness to tell him the new developments. That was the reason, I guess, I didn't notice how serious he was, not a smile of greeting, not a handshake. He didn't even take off his coat, but throwing his hat on one of the hallpegs, said:
 
"I've only just got in from Buffalo¹⁴. I phoned to the Whitney house from the Grand Central, but they're both out of town, not to be back till tomorrow morning, and O'Mally's away too. Do you know how Ford is?"
 
"You bet I do. He's sat up, taken nourishment¹⁵ and talked."
 
"Talked? Have they seen him?"
 
"They have." I turned away and moved up the hall. "Come right in and I'll tell you."
 
I went into the dining-room where the drop light hung bright over the table, and was going on to the parlor when I heard his voice, loud and commanding, behind me:
 
"What's he said?"
 
I whisked round and there he was standing¹⁶ by the table, his eyes fixed¹⁷ hard and almost fierce on me.
 
"Won't you come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," I said laughing, just to tease him. He answered without the ghost of a smile:
 
"No. Go on quick. What did Ford say?"
 
"All right." I dropped down into Babbitts' chair and motioned him to mine. "Sit down there. It's a long story and I can't tell it to you if you stand in front of me like a patience on a monument."
 
He took the chair and putting his elbows on the table, raised his hands, clasped together, and leaned his mouth on them. The light fell full on his face and over those clasped hands his eyes stared at me so fixed and steady they looked the eyes of an image. I don't think while I told him he ever batted a lid and I know he never said a word.
 
"So you see," I said, when I was through, "Ford's as much out of it as you are."
 
Without moving his hands he asked:
 
"What do they think?"
 
"Why, what do you suppose they think? Instead of there being three of them in it there were two."
 
"They think she and Barker did it?"
 
"Of course. They've worked it out this way"—I leaned over the table, my voice low, giving him the details of their new theory. As I told it there was something terrible in those eyes. All the kindness went out of them and a fire came in its place till they looked like crystals with a flame behind them.
 
When I finished he spoke¹⁸ and this time his voice sounded different, hoarse¹⁹ and muffled²⁰:
 
"Have they made any plan? Decided on their next step?"
 
"They've got it all arranged," and I went on about the interview that was planned for the next morning. "With her thinking herself safe the way she does, they're sure they can give her such a jolt²¹ she'll lose her nerve and tell."
 
He gave an exclamation²², not words, just a choked, fierce sound, and dropping his hands on the table, burst out like a volcano:
 
"The dogs! The devils! Dragging her down there to terrify a lie out of her!"
 
He leaped to his feet, sending the chair crashing down on the floor. I fell back where I sat paralyzed, not only by his words, but at the sight of him.
 
I think I've spoken of the fact that he had a violent temper and he'............